He stood and offered his hands. “Bathroom?”
I hesitated before putting my hands in his and letting him pick me up again.
I fit there, in his arms, too easily.
And for the rest of the day, I let him fetch and carry, hover and adjust.
I told myself it was temporary, that I didn’t owe him anything, that we were just two people who’d connected, and it didn’t have to be anything more than that right now.
And somewhere between the dusting and the desk lamp and the chipped mug, my heart stopped bracing so hard.
The light began to change,telling me night was approaching. It was a subtle shift, where the gold of the sun thinned and the shadows in the room softened. Evening was slipping in whether I liked it or not.
I noticed it because I was watching the way it caught in Liam’s hair as he stood by the bookshelf, and I immediately resented that fact.
The doctor’s protocol technically ended tonight.
Last night, Liam had woken me every two hours. Asked me orientation questions with a straight face. Watched for symptoms. Hovered without smothering. Carried me when I let him. Backed off when I didn’t. And he’d basically cleaned and organized my whole apartment.
At some point, distantly, it occurred to me that I had not actually asked how he was able to do any of that.
He had a job. Responsibilities. A place he was supposed to be that was not here. And yet he had been here, and he hadn’t made it feel like a sacrifice I needed to account for.
My stomach tightened slightly. I knew what it looked like when someone kept showing up like that and no one stopped them. I knew how easy it was to let it happen. To accept the help. To focus on what you needed in the moment and not what it cost the other person to give it.
I had spent most of my life on the other side of that equation. Was I acting like my mom?
The idea that I might be stepping into that now, even a little, made my chest pull tight.
Never.
I repositioned myself on the couch, pressing my fingernails into my hand to ground the thought before it could spiral any further.
That wasn’t what this was.
He had chosen to be here. He had made that clear in every possible way.
I hadn’t asked for any of it. Much less expected it.
Still, the awareness lingered.
But he would be leaving this evening. That thought didn’t bring full relief like it should have. There wassomerelief, but it was mixed in with a host of other emotions, like some sort of fucked-up emotion soup. Emotions like sadness and grief.
I shut it down immediately.
Heshouldleave. He had a life. A job. A whole supernatural ecosystem I barely understood. This was temporary.
Life had to go on.
We still had a few hours.
I glared at the situation unfolding at the bookshelf. This I could handle. Fuck all that emotional nonsense.
“You’re doing that wrong,” I told him.
“I am not,” Liam replied calmly.
He was on his knees beside the lowest shelf, stacking my books into tidy piles. He had removed everything and was now reorganizing it with the seriousness of someone handling classified material.
